Care
by virtualfindingsdocumented
Summary: Moxie cares for her old friend. Lemony doesn't know how to be cared about.


**A/N:** _For one of my_ rp _partners, who is always here for Lem & Moxie_.

* * *

Lemony Snicket sat alone in a dark room, typing away a new chapter of his books. He didn't know what time it was, as all windows were covered and he was too busy writing to look at a clock, and the elaborate lock on the door made him confident that no one would interrupt his work.

However, not even the most elaborate of locks can keep away a person who has the key, that is the whole purpose of a lock. This particular lock had two copies of its key. One was with Lemony at all times, in a secret pocket of his suit. The other was with his trusted editor.

It should be no surprise that when the door suddenly opened, it was said editor.

The short woman entered without a word and looked around the small, dark room. With a sigh, she went to one of the covered windows and pulled the curtains open.

"Don't." Lemony hissed, not taking his eyes from the paper as sunlight invaded the room.

Moxie gave him one of her looks, and even with his back to her, he knew it.

"The windows are darkened. The glass is bulletproof, four inches. There are bodyguards in all the surrounding area to this building, courtesy of the publishing house." She paused, waiting for a reply from him. As none came, she sighed. "Can you please stop believing the whole world is out to get you for one second?"

"I never said it was the whole world!" Lemony protested. "Just a few selected individuals who are very smart, and who have very terrible intentions."

"Well, I can assure you those individuals are nowhere near here, and probably have no idea you are here. And even if they had and if they were, they would have a hard time getting to you. You are safe, Snicket." He shook his head, but Moxie didn't give him a chance to speak. "You are safe, and you need some sunlight. Do you even know what day it is?"

"Tuesday?" He asked.

"Friday." Moxie groaned. "You can't really be planning on spending all your time locked away, writing."

"Of course not," Lemony said in an offended tone. "I have research to do as well. Associates to mail, people to interview. What I already know about the Baudelaires can barely cover the next two books."

Moxie rolled her eyes, exasperated.

"Do you ever think of anything that is not work?"

Lemony thought for some seconds.

"I make sure to cry at least three times a day. I have been told it's healthy."

"Nothing about your lifestyle is healthy, Snicket." Moxie said, heading to the kitchen. "When did you last eat?"

"I didn't look at the clock."

"Do you ever take a break?"

"Yes. As I just told you-"

"To do anything but crying?"

"What is there to life for a man like me except writing and crying?"

Moxie really wished he wasn't serious about this, but the years had taught her that very little that came from Snicket's mouth (or that was written by his hands) was not serious. She walked back to the living room, forgetting what she planned to search, and gave him a good look while he kept typing.

"You really need help."

"The only help I need is to get these books published. I don't need a babysitter, Moxie."

She placed a hand over one of his, almost making him type a wrong letter.

"You need to stay alive to finish them."

He frowned, and pulled both his hands away.

"I know. And I have been doing a good job at it so far. But it includes not receiving visitors and not leaving my windows open and vulnerable."

Moxie sighed again. She had only a vague idea of what had happened between the last time she had seen him, back at Stain'd-by-the-sea, and the day he broke into her office, talking about the books. She knew she didn't know the whole story, maybe never would, but something during those years turned that brave boy who seemed to know everything into this broken and scared man. He had finally let fear catch up with him. She didn't like it.

"You are not doing a good job. You are doing a terrible job."

"I am alive, am I not?" Lemony said, almost as if he resented the fact.

He did resent it. Too many people were gone. Braver, nobler people. And somehow he was still alive.

"You are. But you are also underfed, pale, you have giant eyebags and you look terribly stressed."

He just nodded.

"I hope you have vegetables." Moxie stood up. "I am not letting you live only on frozen food." She walked back to the kitchen.

"What about frozen vegetables?"

After checking the fridge and realizing he was once again being serious, she returned to the living room.

"Get your best disguise. We are going grocery shopping."

Lemony didn't know what to say. He knew he was being cared for, but he didn't know how to be cared for. His parents were gone since he could remember, and he had been raised by people who expected him to put himself in dangerous situations. He was not as close to his older siblings as he wished to be, and as things were (have been for a few years now), it was too dangerous for them to even meet. He had few friends. Everyone he knew was always in a situation as terrible as his own. He had been taught since he was little to take care of himself, because the world was dangerous and he couldn't expect anyone to do it for him, and if he did his job right, there would always be someone wanting to harm him.

But Moxie, she had a warmth in her that he didn't know how to deal with, and he hated not knowing something, so he kept pushing her away. They were just co-workers. All she needed to worry about was if he delivered his manuscripts on time, and making sure the books were published.

"You don't need to do this. You are my editor, not my babysitter."

"Why are these books so much more important than your own well being?"

"Because these children have no one else in the world!"

"Then why don't you go after them? Offer to be their guardian, I don't know. Why don't you interfere, instead of just writing about them?"

Moxie instantly regretted her words. Lemony closed his eyes, and it seemed he was holding back tears. She felt like she crossed some line.

"There are people who are brave. People who fight fires, who take villains to justice and who rescue children in need. I'm not one of these people. I am not brave. I am not a fighter. I only have a typewriter, and years of study in rhetorics. All I can do is writing this all down, and hope this reaches some of those brave people. Someone who actually can be of some help."

Moxie gave him a sad look.

"Why is it you who has to do this? You are not even related to them."

A tear actually fell as she said that.

"I could have been." He whispered.

"Could have. But you are not. This is not your story, Lemony. You don't have a responsibility in it."

"You are wrong." He shook his head. "I have much more responsibility in this all than you can even imagine."

"You know doing this won't bring her back, right?"

Lemony remained silent for a moment. Moxie thought he would start crying for real, or that he would kick her out of his apartment. Instead, he just whispered something.

"I made a promise."

"Still stubborn about those, huh?" She said, not looking at him.

"A man needs some principles. This is one of mine." He sighed.

"You can fulfill all your promises after we go shopping. And you eat an actual decent meal."

Lemony sighed, realizing Moxie wouldn't give up on it.

"Let me just finish this chapter."

Moxie nodded and took a free chair. She sat down facing him.

Lemony typed one word, but the feeling of Moxie's stare made him nervous.

"I can't write with you looking at me like this."

"Alright." Moxie said, standing up and turning her chair to the other side. She sat with her back facing him.

Lemony almost felt like laughing at that.

"You know, this will be a rough journey. It will be troublesome and distressing." He said, the sound of him fast typing like a background music to his words. Moxie liked that sound.

"I am already troubled and distressed by being your friend." She playfully said.

He stopped typing.

"Am I your friend?"

"Are you not?"

Lemony lowered his eyes.

"I have lied to you. I can't promise I won't do it again."

Moxie would be lying if she said it was alright, that she didn't feel hurt by it.

He looked at her from the corner of his eyes and nodded.

"You don't need-"

"To do this. I know. You keep saying it. But it won't make me give up on you yet."

"Why?" He asked, genuinely confused.

Moxie stood up and kneeled beside him, taking once again one of his hands in hers.

"Because someone needs to make sure you don't get lost in the past and this world of conspiracies of yours. Someone needs to remind you to stay in the present, the ordinary world. Make sure you don't just _survive_ while doing this great work."

"It doesn't have to be you. This is not your story, Moxie. You don't have a responsibility in it." He repeated her own words back at her, but his tone was much gentler.

"You are wrong." She shook her head. "I became a part of this story the moment I let you back into my life. We are in this together, you like it or not. Besides, if I don't do it, who will?"

Lemony showed her something that vaguely resembled a smile. Then he typed a few more words, and stood up.

"Let's do this grocery shopping you talk so much about." He said.

"What about the chapter?"

"I found a good stopping point."

Moxie looked at the sheet and read the last sentences.

"Really?"

"I will explain my choices to the readers in the next one. Groceries?"

"You have actually done this before, right?" She asked.

"Maybe?" He replied, but something in his tone showed that he was joking.

Lemony Snicket. Joking. Wow.

"How can you consider yourself a functional human adult?" She teased him.

"Hey! I am at least one of these things!"

Moxie laughed, and Lemony... well, he looked a little brighter than his usual self. It was a small victory. Getting the writer out of that suffocating apartment to do something mundane was a small victory as well. She felt some pride. Lemony grabbed his hat, and Moxie grabbed his hand to led him out.

Lemony still wasn't sure of how to accept all that Moxie wanted to offer him, and he wasn't sure he could offer her anything in return. She was forgiving him for things that didn't deserve forgiveness, and was giving him things he never received before. But she was right, he wouldn't be able to finish his job with his current unhealthy lifestyle. She could help him with that. So, despite his fears, he followed her out of the apartment.


End file.
